No one talks about you much. It can cause a lot of problems. Accusations of essentialist thinking, fascism, ignorance, naivete, and worst of all, being behind the times, get thrown around like inadequate wrestlers. Career opportunities are jeopardized. Artist talks suddenly get interesting — like an ancient tragic comedy as it emotionally awakens you in its narrative arc.

Maybe, in truth, you’ve never existed at all. An unacknowledged or laboriously obfuscated absence of position isa position. It is a choice with effect, inevitably contributing to an enabling of the way things are.

Morality is rendered theoretical (and equivalent to its absence) another malleable form in the production of new markets, new lifestyles, new desires, new conformities and fears.

I keep spotting you in lobbies, galleries, store fronts, lecture halls. I’ve watched you inhabit a pristine shipping container re-presented as inter-active, collaborative possibility. I’ve watched you possess the hearts of earnest texts and steal away with them. You condition the meaning(s) of forever relational contents. You embrace a neutered re-presentation of the collapse of time and space, communal experience and action, each and every History of Ideas. You posit globalization as a dynamic rhetorical question. You circle the wagons of concentrated wealth.

Your paradoxical existence has become the only weapon of choice amongst ruthless opportunists — and those scared to death of disappearing. You are the grease in the wheels of Death — of this Dead Civilization.